


The Realization, the Betrayal

by TimmyJaybird



Series: Carnival [5]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Violence, lack of porn (for once)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-12
Updated: 2013-09-12
Packaged: 2017-12-26 09:59:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce's emotions are spiraling far from sanity. The Joker has enlivened something inside him he didn't know existed- and seems to be opening up himself. But when the time comes to leave the bedroom romance behind, and take to the streets to bring Crane to justice, whose side is the Clown Prince of Crime truly on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Realization, the Betrayal

Bruce woke up to an orange and pink glow washing in through the dingy window above the bed. He stretched a little, then clutched the lithe body in his arms closer, nestling into those curls and kissing the tip of a scar as his head was turned.

The Joker cracked open one eye, then closed it again, groaning. His make up, which Bruce had forgotten during their little tumble, was smeared along his face. Bruce was sure there were spots on him as well.

“Hey,” Bruce said, softly, and the Joker reached for the blanket, pulling it over his head with a groan. Bruce chuckled, pulling it down, turning his head so he could kiss those lips, until he felt them move, saw the Joker’s eyes open. “Wake up.”

“Whyyyy?” he asked, though he sat up, the moment the blanket fell off his shoulders, shivered. Despite the cold, the Joker climbed from the bed, naked, ran his hands through his tangled hair. “I’ve gotta put my face on,” he said, still sleepy. Bruce watched him walk away, the colors of dawn tinting his skin an array of reds and pinks and oranges.

He actually left the room, and Bruce heard him walking down the hall. With a content sigh, he nestled into the pillow, realized it smelled like the Joker- a little bit of greasepaint, metal, and something deeper, something that warmed Bruce’s gut.

It made his heart race and his chest tight, like he hadn’t felt in a long time.

He stayed comfortable in the bed, hidden under the blankets against the cold, until the Joker came back. He was still naked, except now his face was clean. It made Bruce grin.

“Come back to bed,” he said, putting on his laziest, most charming playboy smile. The Joker laughed, before he conceded and slipped under the blanket, skin like ice from the brief walk around the deserted halls. Bruce wrapped his arms around him, grimacing at his cold skin for a moment, before he tangled their legs together. “Shit, you’re freezing.”

“It’s _cold_ , Batsy baby,” he said, “or did you not notice?” His finger tips were running through Bruce’s hair, and the playboy was intent on trying to secretly memorize that face. The second time he’d been allowed to see it without make-up. After the Joker had up and left his penthouse with no explanation, he wasn’t sure he’d get to again.

“Smartass,” Bruce said, and the Joker grinned. He leaned down and kissed those rosy lips, let the Joker roam his hands over Bruce’s chest, tracing little patterns, as he continued speaking. “So, going to tell me why you left in such a hurry last time?”

“No,” he said, shifting so he was closer. Bruce frowned, let his own fingers trace a scar along the Joker’s bicep.

“Wrong answer,” he said, and the Joker giggled.

“What are you going to do about it, _Batsy_?” He grinned. “Don’t have any of your toys with you, I think you’re at a dis-ad-vant-age.”

Bruce chuckled and playful entwined their legs more, pinning the Joker and rolling over on top of him, pinning him. They were both laughing, the Joker giggling as was typical, Bruce really laughing for the first time in what felt like eternity. He was still chuckling as he kissed the man below him.

When Bruce took him again- as the playboy deemed inevitable in such a compromising position- the laughing never left. Bruce couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed during sex- actually laughed because he’d been happy. But the Joker kissed him so sweetly he wondered if it was the same man who he had hunted over the years. This time he had locked his arms around Bruce’s neck and nestled into him, and Bruce had taken his time- feeling lazy as the morning sun tried to stream in through the window.

It was slow and sweet, and when they were spent, they were tangled again under the blanket. Bruce could feel every breath the Joker took, swore he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, just like his own. It was warming and sweet and yet unnerving.

“So why did you leave?” Bruce asked again, and the man only shook his head with a roll of those gorgeous green eyes. “Not even a hint?”

“Drop it, Bats,” he said, rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Bruce sighed.

“I don’t get you,” he admitted, trailing a finger down his chest, along his navel. “I really don’t. One second you’re all over me, the next you want nothing to do with me, the next you’re trying to _kill_ me, and then you’re cuddling me and kissing me and-“

“Bruce,” he said, looking at him. “Remember to br-ea-the.” He clicked his tongue, then looked back at the ceiling.

“Just give me something,” he said, propping himself up on his elbow, tracing the Joker’s navel again, then along a scar risen over that flat stomach. “Anything.”

There was a moment of silence, and Bruce was sure his request would go unanswered, before he spoke, in a soft whisper, something unlike the Joker. “Jack.”

Bruce almost missed it. Almost. “What?” he asked, and the Joker was pulling away, getting up, walking around the room gathering a few random pieces of clothing.

“Jack,” he said again, tugging the clothing on, pausing to fasten his pants, before he looked back at Bruce for a moment. “It’s my name.”

Then he left Bruce laying there again, shirt in hand, in silence.

_His name?_ Bruce had gotten dressed himself, the cold seeping into his bones with the lack of the Joker in bed with him. The man had been gone probably five minutes now, no more, but each second felt like the twist of a needle. Bruce paced, tried to tame his dark hair, stopped to look down at all those knives laid out on the table.

He’d always wanted to know the Joker’s name. Always wanted to know his identity, who he was before, what drove him. He’d begun to give up on that, to think that nothing drove him except pure madness, a desire to see things burn. But now- maybe there was something, buried under those scars and pretty eyes.

When he came back, he had buttoned his shirt. Without a word he grabbed his purple jacket it, slipped it on, and in the instant slipped one knife down into a pocket- Bruce would have missed it, had he not begun to grow used to all the man’s movements.

“Planning something?” he asked, half teasing, half serious. The Joker looked at him, then picked up another one, turning it in the musky light, before it slipped into an inner pocket.

“N-ope,” he said, “always have to be pre-pared though, Batsy. _Always_.”

A switchblade slipped into the pocket of his pants, and then his tone changed to something serious.

“You should go,” he said, leaning against the chair to his old desk. “This whole _sleepover_ has been fun, but I’ve never seen the Bat out in the daylight.”

“I didn’t come as Batman,” Bruce said, closing the gap, nearly pressing himself to the Joker. “I came as Bruce- no mask, no suit. I can stay out past dawn- I promise I don’t have a curfew.”

The Joker laughed, a real laugh, which then dissolved into giggles.

“Come back home with me,” Bruce said, one hand running along the man’s side, slipping into his jacket. He leaned in, tipped his head, kissed the Joker gently. “I don’t want to be done with you yet.”

Bruce was insane. He knew in that moment, and he didn’t care. When he felt the Joker’s hand trace up his chest, over his shoulder, to play with the ends of his hair, he knew he’d always be insane. So long as this man could touch him, could breath in the air he breathed, had those dancing eyes and oddly beautiful mouth. He’d never be sane again.

“I don’t think your little but-ler would, ah, _approve_ ,” the Joker teased.

“Don’t worry about Alfred,” Bruce said, “just come with me. It’s freezing here, you’ll be miserable if you stay.”

The Joker thought on it, those eyes dancing in thought, before the corners of his lips turned up into a smile.

“Alright, Brucie baby,” he said, “Just let me put my face on-“

“No.” Bruce shook his head, reached up and cradled the Joker’s face. “Don’t put that damn paint on.” His thumbs stroked over both scars simultaneously, and the Joker’s eyes nearly rolled back, his breath escaping him in a rush. For an instant, Bruce didn’t think they’d be leaving anytime soon. He leaned closer, kissed his lips gently as he did it again, felt the man quivering.

This wasn’t the Joker he was used to.

“F-fine,” he stammered- he actually stammered!- before he pushed Bruce’s hands away, as if the pleasure was simply too much for him to handle. Bruce smiled at him, turned to leave, and the Joker followed, another two knives sliding into various pockets- just in case.

They huddled against the morning cold in their jackets, though Bruce knew it wasn’t that much colder outside than in the abandoned apartment complex the Joker was calling home. He’d realized there was no heat, and that they were lucky there were still a few places where the electric was hooked up. The madman didn’t seem to care, but it worried Bruce. Suddenly he didn’t want to think of him cold at night.

Once he wouldn’t have cared if he froze to death- so long as Bruce was too far away to do anything about it. Once, he would have loved the thought of his shivering in a cell in Arkham. Now he didn’t even want to see him frown.

Someone might have said it was funny, how a few kisses and roaming hands changed thing. Bruce thought terrifying was a better word.

He unlocked the car and the two climbed in, Bruce finally pulling his cell phone out of his jacket pocket. A few missed calls, all from his own house phone. Alfred.

With a shrug he tucked the phone away. Alfred would see what he was up to soon enough. They headed off through the slushy streets in silence, Bruce content with the heater blasting, that one murmured name rolling through his head over and over and over again, the Joker leaning against the window, watching the streets fly by in broad daylight.

When the elevator reached the penthouse and the two stepped off, it was only a matter of moments until Alfred appeared. His face dropped at seeing the Joker, but he recovered quickly- just not quickly enough.

“Master Wayne,” he said, “I was beginning to worry. Not like you to be out all night without the suit.”

“I’m fine, Alfred,” Bruce was saying, taking his jacket off and throwing an arm around the Joker’s shoulder. “Just had to chase someone down.” He leaned over, kissed the Joker’s temple, didn’t bother to watch Alfred’s response. Then he was leading the Joker away. “Get some rest, Alfred. You look like you were up half the night. We can take care of ourselves, I’d say.”

He dragged the Joker back to his room, closing the door and pressing him to it, nuzzling his neck. “Let’s take a shower,” he said, fingers working on the Joker’s shirt buttons. He felt like a child with a new toy, and the whole day to play with it. He wanted everything, and even if he’d had him maybe an hour before, he realized he wanted him all over again.

“Careful Batsy,” the Joker was saying, though the words were strained against the tingling heat coming from Bruce’s lips. “I’d like to be able to _walk_ out of here.” He giggled when Bruce looked up at him, confused for a minute, before his cheeks tinged pink. Rather cute, especially for the big bad Bat.

“Was I too rough?” he asked, straightening up, remembering the crack of skin on skin as he’d punched the Joker last night, of the claw marks along his back.

“Not ye-t,” he teased, opening his shirt for Bruce, shrugging it and his jacket off and tossing them onto a chair, wriggling free from the other man to pace around. “But if you _fuck_ me every hour, it won’t matter how gent-le you are.” He winked, leaned against a dresser, his hair draping in perfect wild curls around his face, dusting past shoulders.

Bruce fell for him in a moment. He stalked over, cupped his face with one hand, kissed him like it was the first and last time. One thumb traced a scar while his other hand traced his side, caressed one long scar along his ribs, felt the Joker shake and come undone, reaching for Bruce desperately. He got the collar of his shirt, clung for dear life as the life was sucked from his gut, into his veins and up his throat, into his breath.

Bruce tipped him back, the hand on his side wrapping around him, steadying him. His hand left the Joker’s face, delved into his hair, locked into those curls. Bruce loved them in that moment, loved the way blonde faded into green, the way they cascaded onto the man’s shoulders. He hadn’t cut it since before he was last sent to Arkham, and Bruce was hoping he didn’t.

“I thought we were going to get _cleaned_ up, Romeo,” the Joker teased, arching one eyebrow. “You’re going in a different di-rec-tion.”

Bruce blushed again, tried to lean back, but the Joker kept a firm grasp on his shirt, keeping him close. He leaned in and kissed him- only for a moment- something brief and sweet, oddly calm. It made Bruce’s head spin.

Then the Joker released him and slipped away, walking towards the bathroom, trying to keep his breaths steady. It would do him no good to show Bruce just how easily he took it.

The Joker sat on Bruce's bed after the delayed shower, hair wet, feet bare, in his own pants and one of Bruce’s sweaters. He mused quietly that it was black- Bruce owned a lot of black, as if he couldn’t escape Batman even in his daylight clothing. But it was soft and warm, and smelled of the playboy’s cologne- and he couldn’t deny it was obvious Bruce enjoyed seeing him in his own clothing.

“I think you’ve worn me out more in the past twenty-four than you have at all over the years,” Bruce teased, and the Joker shrugged a shoulder, grinned at him.

“I’ve been playing the game wrong until now, a-ppar-ent-ly.” He leaned forward, hands fisting in the blanket. “But then again, you’re a hard man to catch, _Bats_. I’d bet even, ah, _harder_ to hold onto.” He winked, and Bruce just chuckled. He opened his mouth to say he wasn’t going anywhere, that the Joker had him-

But he stopped himself. What was he thinking? Was this a relationship now? What did that mean? How did one date the most wanted criminal in Gotham, a man beyond insane? And how, of all people, did Batman end up entangled in his pale legs and silly curls?

Bruce stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’m starving,” he said, changing the subject, unable to dwell on it now. Later, in the dark, when the Joker slept- or when he was alone, it didn’t matter. But not now, not when there was a moment of peace. He knew he’d have to go out and find Crane, foil whatever his true plans were, but in this moment he could try to be Bruce, try to separate himself from the Bat just a little more, and enjoy his company.

Or was he just falling more into Batman, in some weird spiral? After all, his chosen company was the Joker, a man only Batman knew intimately form their years of violent dances.

_Then think of him by his name. Jack._

“Come on, I can make us breakfast,” Bruce was saying, even though he knew it would be more like lunch. The Joker shrugged a shoulder, and before he could stand Bruce scooped him up, lifting him far too easily. He was fairly sure he’d never been this light.

“Do they even feed you at Arkham?” he asked, carrying him to the door. The Joker shrugged his shoulder again, one hand playing with Bruce’s hair.

“It’s not, ah, food, I dare say,” he said.

“Do _you_ feed yourself when you’re not in Arkham?”

“If I remember.” Bruce stopped, now at the closed door, staring at him.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten something?” The Joker thought on it for a second, began counting on his fingers. When he got to four Bruce set him down, not wanting to think about it. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. We’re going to put something in you _now_.”

“But Brucie dar- _ling_ ,” he said as the playboy opened the door and guided him out, “you’ve already put _plenty_ in me.”

Despite his jokes, the Joker did eat, much to Bruce’s relief. When he offered him coffee though, he made a face as if Bruce had offered him a cup of tar, which made the playboy laugh and tussle this long hair.

Pumpkin joined them for breakfast, sitting herself on a chair at the table and watching. When Bruce looked away the Joker gave her a piece of his scrambled egg, giggling as she ate it from his hand. When he did it a second time, Bruce caught him.

“You’re going to give her some terrible habits,” he said, but didn’t stop him. He watched him smile instead, couldn’t help but smile at the happiness he saw. The Joker always smiled, but Bruce was realizing how fake they had been. “Tell me something,” he said, getting up to refill his coffee. “How did you figure out who I was?”

The Joker watched him for a moment, eyes roamed over him in a familiar, warm way. “How many people in Gotham drive, ah, Lamborghinis, Bats?” Bruce looked stunned for a second, then ashamed, and the Joker laughed. “Relax Batsy, it wasn’t _that_...entirely. I took your, ah, license plate before we drove off.”

Bruce stared at him for a moment, trying to think back to that night. The drugs had left it all a blur- but he remembered the sound of metal on metal, of the trunk. He had kept a crow bar in there. And the Joker hadn’t gotten in the car immediately.

“Must be _fun_ to have so many cars that you can, ah, not even realize it’s missing.”

Bruce looked away. Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to drive that specific car since then. It had blood stains and grim on the seats, he had to have it cleaned. But even then-

The Joker had kissed him there. He’d changed the game in that car- he’d saved Bruce’s life. And Bruce hadn’t really been ready to be reminded of that with every joy ride.

He sat back down with his coffee, trying to shift to more important things. “I need your help,” he said, and the Joker raised an eyebrow.

“My _help_? Batsy, haven’t I been _helping_ you plenty? You make a man wonder if you even know how to, ah, jerk it on your own.” He licked his lips, and Bruce blushed again.

“Not _that_ ,” he said, trying to give him a scolding look. “With Crane.”

The Joker frowned. “Way to ruin a man’s appetite,” he said, pushing his plate away- though it was mostly empty.

“You have to show me where he is-“

“I don’t _have_ to do anything, Bats,” he pointed out, drumming his fingers against the table. Bruce frowned.

“I made a choice,” he said, “when I found Ivy. She could show me Crane, or you. I chose you- don’t make me regret it.”

The Joker sat there for a moment, drummed his fingers again, then abruptly stood. He walked over, slipped between Bruce and the table, straddled his hips and leaned in, elbows resting on his shoulders.

“Would you choose me again?” he asked, and Bruce raised one dark eyebrow.

“What-“

“If you had the choice,” he said, locking his hands together behind Bruce’s head. “Between me and your _precious_ justice, what would you choose?” Bruce opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated.

What _would_ he choose?

The silence spoke enough. The Joker leaned in, kissed him lightly, speaking against the mouth he was so fond of.

“I’ll take you,” he said, letting his hands unlock and sink into Bruce’s hair, “And when the time comes, I hope you make the right choice, Bats.”

Bruce felt the pit of his stomach turn to stone, and he wrapped his arms around the man on his lap and kissed him harder.

Darkness loomed closer and closer as the day went by. It felt like a weight on Bruce- he yearned for the suit, to find Crane and bring him to justice. But his mind swam in the serene calm he had during the day, with the Joker of all people. He never thought serene could be used to describe anything the unstable ball of trembling energy did.

They had sat in silence for a while now, Bruce reading through a report that had been sent over from the office. The Joker was laying there, head in his lap, quiet. Thinking, Bruce assumed- he didn’t ask about what. Alfred had walked in once, brought Bruce a cup of coffee, and had said nothing about the two.

Knowing that Alfred knew, Bruce felt less on edge. He’d seen the two curled up naked that first night, and Bruce had made it somewhat obvious when they returned to the penthouse. Whether or not Alfred approved did matter to Bruce- but not enough that he’d disguise just how much he was enjoying the man’s company. Take the chaos out of the Joker, and he was an enjoyable man-

_No, take the Joker out of the chaos_ he corrected. There was no way to take the chaos out of the man, he was fairly sure.

He felt him shifting, and Bruce moved the paper as the man sat up. A moment later it was plucked from his hands, sent falling onto the coffee table. The Joker wriggled his way onto Bruce’s lap, arms wrapping around his neck, playing with his hair, just looking at him.

Bruce waited for him to speak, to move, but he didn’t. He simply stared into him, studied him, made him want to fidgit under that gaze.

“What?” he finally asked, and the Joker smiled, soft- sad.

“Just memorizing you,” he admitted, “for when you’re gone.”

Confused, Bruce wrapped his arms around the lithe man’s waist. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, and he wanted to mean it. He didn’t want to be away, not for long. The hold this man, the Joker had over him was horrifying and lovely.

_No, not the Joker. This man isn’t the same as the painted one. Jack. His name is Jack_.

Bruce leaned in, kissed him, held him. The Joker clung to him, and Bruce swore he was trembling, but he didn’t know why. He clutched him tighter, felt his chest ache. He felt like he was bursting with so many unsaid things, so many words and desires and confessions, but he didn’t know where to start, what they were.

Only when he was tipped back into the couch and he felt the Joker take his breath with a slip of his tongue, did he begin to know. When those hands clutched his chest, traced patterns through his shirt. When those oddly soft curls tickeld him, when the Joker’s own scent washed over him and he ached did he know.

He loved him. In some sick twist of fate, he loved the man he should hate- who took and took and took from him. Fucking him had been one thing, enjoying the tightness of his body, the feel of those scars, that was acceptable. But love was not.

Bruce clutched him terrified, because he didn’t know what else to do. His fingers sank into the soft fabric of that black sweater, felt skin and muscle beneath, solid. There.

“Jack,” he whispered against those lips, and suddenly the Joker was jerking back, almost glaring at him. Almost.

“What did you say?” Bruce looked at him, perplexed. What had he said? He hadn’t even realized he’d spoken. “ _Don’t_ call me that.” The voice was low and serious, almost terrifying.

Bruce opened his mouth, spoke before he had the sense to think. “But you said it was your name-“

“ _I’m_ the Joker,” he said, leaning in, nose to nose, forcing one of his wide Cheshire grins. “Jack is dead, Bats.”

Bruce pushed him back so he could look at him, his head hurting from trying to stare at him cross-eyed. “You’re insane,” he said, “you said that was your name. And you’re alive.”

The Joker shook his had. “Ever confused, Batsy. It is, ah, a name of a man that was once...alive. But I’m the Joker.” In a movement he was leaning in, and Bruce felt something sharp against his throat. A knife, from the man’s pocket. It was warm from his body. “ _Don’t forget_.”

The blade was gone in a moment, and the Joker moved off of Bruce. “I think it’s time to leave, Bats.”

“It’s not dark,” he said, though dusk was settling in. “I can’t go out in the suit except at night-“

“For me to leave,” he corrected, turning and shoving his hands in his pockets- looking a simple man again.

“You said you’d help-“

“And I will,” he said. “Meet me at midnight, Batsy. Your favorite hour. And I’ll take you where you need to go.”

When he left this time, it wasn’t in the rush the Joker had left in last time. He wore his purple jacket over the black sweater- Bruce insisted, said it was too cold for his other shirt. He even let Bruce kiss him, run his hands over that lithe form.

Then he was gone, and Bruce had until near midnight to figure out what the hell he was doing.

He took the batpod and sped through the dreary, cold streets. It felt too quiet, like something was churning down below.

Tonight would be explosive.

When he reached the Joker’s street- he was beginning to think of the whole deserted block as the man’s own little kingdom- he was standing on the steps. He walked down to Bruce, eyeing the suit. He had been getting used to Bruce without it.

He looked like the Joker again. Purple pants and jacket, flashy gold vest, a green shirt. His face was pristine chaos- painted so expertly, yet a wreck with that huge red smile crawling up over his scars. His hair had been dyed, pure green. The blonde that reminded Bruce of a man he thought he might finally meet, a man claimed to be dead, was gone.

It was still long though. Silently, Bruce was thankful for that. He liked playing with it too much.

“Where am I going?” Bruce asked, and the Joker reached out, traced a finger along his Kevlar cover chest. He _tisked_ , missing flesh.

“With me,” he said, walking away, off to the alley next to the building. He walked out a moment later, pushing a motorcycle. It was old, paint chipped, and Bruce had to wonder if he could even drive it. Considering there was no room on the batpod, he didn’t have much to offer the clown.

The Joker hopped on, revved it with a grin, and was off. Bruce hunched down and followed, off into the Narrows.

When they finally halted, the Joker nearly hopped off the bike, leaving it to fall in the snow. Bruce was slower, falling a few paces behind him as they walked towards a warehouse.

“Where’s the entrance-“

Bruce froze as the Joker turned, grinning at him, and suddenly there was a burning in Bruce’s leg. He reached down, pulled a dart out, and stared at it, before looking back up. The man was a blur of color and shadow now, before everything went black.

“ _Careful_ you brute.” A pang in his side. “I said _care-ful_! How hard is that to, ah, understand?”

Bruce felt something across his chest, then his legs, his wrists. He opened his eyes, but the room was spinning, out of focus-

Until a painted face loomed over and grinned at him.

“Welcome back, Bats!” he said, one of his gloved hands resting on his chest. “Glad you came back so, ah, _quick_. Wouldn’t want you to miss the show. But then again, you always have, ah, _recovered_ rather quickly.” He accentuated the taunt with a wink, and Bruce strained up towards him.

“Joker,” he growled, his voice rough gravel. “What the hell is this? I thought-“

“Wrong.” It was a different voice, one muffled, oddly distorted. Out from the shadows Scarecrow emerged, hands in the pockets of his pants, that ugly sack ever present over his head. “Maybe you aren’t so useless, Joker. You did deliver Batman.”

“Told ya I would,” the Joker muttered, leaving Bruce and walking over. “I’m a man of my _word_.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Crane said, waving him off and walking over to Batman. “With Batman restrained here, we run no risk of anyone thwarting my plans.”

“And what plans would those be?” Bruce asked, his head clearing, but aching. Crane chuckled.

“Pure chaos.” He turned, waved his hand, and suddenly a wall of screens illuminated. They were hacked into traffic cameras, showing busy Gotham streets and various buildings. Even at night the city was alive-

Because they had Batman when they needed him.

“Soon, very soon, I’ll detonate a number of bombs, Batman. And every hospital in this city will go up in a cloud of smoke and fire!” He laughed, slammed his hands on the table Bruce was strapped onto, leaned down. “And with all medical aid gone, there will be absolutely no intervention to my work. I’ll douse this city in the pure essence of insanity, and watch them all feed off each other’s fears.”

Bruce strained against the bonds again, to no avail.

“How?” he asked, and he was sure Crane was smiling.

“I’ll show you how. Ivy!” he barked, and Bruce strained his head, turned a bit, saw her in the distance. She had a lab coat on, but otherwise she was dressed like an average woman. He wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or not- the lack of her green bodysuit.

She hesitated, then turned, walked off, her heels clicking. Bruce heard metal grinding on metal, squeaking, the sound of footsteps and the clanking of chains.

What followed Ivy, he’d never forget.

It was the Riddler- or, had been, once. His hair was growing out, wild, his eyes almost pupil-less, darting in every direction as if they were locked on motion. His face was cracked in a huge grin- a painful looking one.

He was chained, and Ivy led him by a leash, like a dog. Bruce felt sorry for the man- of all the criminals, he wasn’t the worst.

“What happened to him?”

“He’s been...transformed, into something better. More... _functional_.” Crane motioned with his hand, and the Joker walked over, averting his eyes, his grin gone. “I’ve heightened his senses, given him a dose of hallucinogens, something to raise his energy...something to unhinge his mind.” He placed a hand on the Joker’s shoulder, and the clown grimaced. “I’ve turned him into something far better than he was- something based off your dear friend, here. He may not have some of the control our dear Joker has, but he’s certainly close to his level of insanity now.”

Crane laughed, and Bruce heard the clown mutter that he wasn’t insane. He seemed to be the only one to hear it.

“All of Gotham will transform when I give the command,” he said, “I’ve placed gas canisters on nearly every corner. Anyone nearby will be infected, go absolutely mad. And those who don’t will go mad with _fear_.” He tightened his hand on the Joker’s shoulder, painfully tight, and the painted man jerked away quickly, glaring at him.

“Why?” Bruce asked. “What the hell will you gain from this?”

“Aside of the joy of seeing everyone in pure fear and choas?” Crane asked, leaning down. “Well, Batman, I’m the only one with a cure. A few injections and a few hours, and the madness can clear. I can offer a respite to anyone willing to _pay_. And with the knowledge that I can bring the madness back at any second, they’ll fear me too much to dare do anything about it!”

He laughed again, turned, walked towards the screens. Two large men were standing by, arms crossed, faces blank. One of them must have been the one that had strapped him down.

Crane sat down, watching the cameras- waiting for something. No one spoke, not until there was a ringing in the distance, and Crane was jumping up, rushing off towards it, the two large men following.

Ivy had disappeared, leading the man that was the Riddler once back to his cage. That left Bruce alone with the Joker.

“I thought you were going to _help_ me,” he growled, and the Joker shrugged a shoulder, leaning a hip against the table.

“I ah, did, Bats. I got you where you wanted to be.”

“You _gave_ me to them,” he said. “How long, Joker? Dammit, was this _all_ just part of the goddamn _plan_? Did they tell you to let me fuck you too- or was that your own sick twist on all this?” Bruce jerked up on the restraints, getting as close as he could. “Did it mean _anything_ to you?”

The Joker grabbed him by his shoulders, slammed him back down onto the table. The back of Bruce’s head cracked against it, sparked in pain, as the lithe man held him down firmly, so close to his face he could have kissed him.

“It meant more than you’ll _ever_ understand, Batsy,” he said, his voice dangerous, daggers. “So shut your mouth, _Brucie_ , before you make me forget.”

Then he was gone, walking away into the darkness, leaving Bruce alone.

Crane returned momentarily, tossing a cell phone in his hand.

“It’s almost showtime, Batman,” he said. “I’ve alerted the media, and they’ll be outside my door in minutes. I’ll lay down my plan, and the moment I’m done, the hospitals will go up in smoke. Then the gas- and everyone will have no choice but to run to me.”

“Or the police will shoot you on sight,” Batman said. “Or better yet, I’ll take you back to your beloved asylum. After it’s been...renovated.”

Crane laughed. “You won’t have a chance,” he said, “because I’ll throw _you_ to the madness as well. The people will feel so safe, seeing their beloved Batman going insane with the rest of them.”

Bruce frowned, pulled on the restraints again, but to no avail. If he could just reach his belt, he might be able to cut himself free, but his fingers just couldn’t make it.

“Ivy!” Crane was calling. “Get a syringe and get the Bat knocked out. We need to move him, it’s showtime.”

When Ivy appeared with a syringe, she gave Bruce a look almost akin to pity, before driving it into his arm, and his veins exploded in heat. Then black.

When Bruce’s eyes opened, there was a blinding light. A flood light lit up the street, reflected off dirty snow, onto the faces of media and cops, all standing frozen. There was sound, Bruce realized- speaking, an echo in his head until it felt as if it burst.

Crane was pacing, one hand held high, a little green light flashing. A detonator- for the hospitals, Bruce imagined, but perhaps the gas around the city was tied to the same detonator. He couldn’t be sure.

Behind him Ivy stood, holding the Riddler’s leash. The man was tugging on his chains, muttering and cursing and slowly going livid. The media cringed at every movement he made, at those crazy eyes darting to and from, as if he wanted to sink his teeth into every neck and vein out in the cold. He’d gone beyond man, to monster.

Speaking of, Bruce noted the Joker was nowhere to be seen. Odd, the man loved to see his face plastered all over the TV.

Crane had his two large men standing behind him, both holding guns in iron grips. Bruce was sure there were more, in the shadows, could see vague movement. He strained against his restraints, realized they’d actually tied him to the building. His feet were about a foot off the ground.

Bruce cursed, tugged again, when suddenly the chaos began.

A loud _boom_ sounded, shaking the air, and part of the very building behind them went up. The reporters surged back, the police tightening grips on their guns, before another sounded, and mayhem broke out. People began running, in circles, in zig zags, lost.

Crane was whipping around, screaming at his men, and Bruce realized he hadn’t touched his detonator. This wasn’t his work.

There was a man a few feet from Bruce, walking towards him, gun raised. Bruce readied to try to pull free, to lurch at him in any way, but a crack sounded and he fell to the ground, a hole in the back of his had.

Behind him, coat whipping in the wind, was the Joker. He stalked forward, hiding that dainty little gun in his coat, and pulled out a knife.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked, and the Joker grabbed the binding on his legs, sawing through it. He didn’t speak, but in a moment Bruce’s legs were free. He braced them against the rough brick of the building as the Joker reached up, released one arm.

He handed the knife without a word to Bruce, and was off, towards the chaos. Bruce sawed as quickly as he could at the bindings on his other arm and chest.

Ahead of him, the Joker had pulled his conveniently small gun from his jacket, was pointing it at Crane. The Doctor turned, looked at him, and under that mask, smiled.

“And what’s this?” he asked. “Why, Joker, you’re the _last_ person I’d see switching sides. Suddenly care about this little city?” He looked over as Bruce dropped from the building, free. “Or is it someone _else_ who has your fancy?”

The Joker stepped closer. One of Crane’s men raised a gun, and like lightning a knife flew through the air, sticking into his neck. Bruce never even saw where the Joker pulled it from.

“It’s not the wretched city,” the clown said, circling around Crane, “or the people- they can fuck themselves silly for all I care.” He stopped moving, pulled the trigger, and for a moment there was silence, waiting silence, for Crane to fall.

Green dust burst from the gun, and the Joker cackled. He tossed it in a fluid motion, hitting one of the thugs on the head, and was at Crane’s throat, knife poised there.

“Too bad I couldn’t see your, ah, face there, Craney. Would’ve _loved_ to see you scared.” The knife bit into his throat a little. “But it’s not for the city. It’s not even for Batsy. This,” he said, gesturing with his free hand, “is for what you did to _me_.”

Two things happened then. The Joker dragged that knife along Crane’s neck, cackling as the blood sprayed onto him, and Bruce screamed for him to stop, rushing forward.

Crane crumbled to the ground, and Bruce dove down, just as one of the thugs in the shadows opened fire. The Joker moved, but not fast enough, took a pulled to his shoulder. He howled, frowned, and leaped at the man, knife in hand.

Bruce grasped at Crane’s throat, holding the wound closed as the blood tried to rush out. He was yelling, out towards the crowd, at the police as they surged forward, as panic ensued. As much as he’d like to see Crane die, he couldn’t just let him. His rule, it applied- even if the Joker had been the one to wield the knife.

By now the remaining thugs were either dead or subdued, handcuffs clasping all around. The media was in a frenzy, recovering from their stupor, and someone was pushing Bruce away from Crane, replacing his hold on his throat.

He stepped away, looked around into the night. There was not a sign of Ivy, of the poor thing the Riddler had become-

Or of the Joker.

Bruce would see footage all over the news come morning, after he’d stripped of the suit and fallen onto the couch, body aching, bruises on his wrists from the bindings. He’d watch the footage over and over again, trying to catch sight of where they had gone to- where they had disappeared. But there was nothing. There was the Joker slitting Crane’s throat and laughing, and that gunshot that made Bruce cringe, before he was gone in the dark, a seething ball of trembling rage. Ivy had barely been seen at all once the chaos began.

“Master Wayne,” Alfred said, “you should get some rest, sir.”

“He just disappeared,” he mused, running a hand through his dark hair. “Like he was never there, Alfred.”

“For the better, I’d say-“

“He was _shot_.” Bruce rubbed his temples, his head aching. “He could be bleeding to death somewhere, Alfred.”

“And you would save him.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. A true statement.

“Yes,” Bruce said, looking at Alfred, eyes dark and defeated and tired. “He had some plan tonight, Alfred. I don’t know if it went exactly as he wanted- but he had a plan. He didn’t just turn on me... he didn’t...” Bruce hung his head, felt his chest tighten. He was so exhausted he could barely contain himself, keep inside what belonged. “Maybe some of it was real...”

Alfred sat down next to him, placed a white gloved hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Master Wayne,” he said, “I’d like to tell you that it wasn’t. I’d like to tell you that the man is a psychopath without cause or reason. I’d like to tell you to hunt him down and lock him away. But.” He hesitated, before giving Bruce’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “As much as I do not like, or trust, the man, he was someone else around you. Some of it may have been honest affection, Master Wayne, you are right.”

Alfred stood then, left Bruce to his thoughts.

The night replayed and replayed in his head. From that first touch of a gloved hand on his Kevlar chest, to the spray of Crane’s blood dousing the Joker, the impact of the bullet on his shoulder. It was just one, right? _Right?_ Bruce couldn’t be sure.

Crane had been taken to Gotham General- rebuilt, now, and kept under lock down while they worked to repair him. He’d live, they had been fairly sure, though not in great condition, and his speech would forever be impacted. Bruce had stayed in suit with Gordon, who had taken over the moment Crane fell, had explained to him that Arkham was not the place to send the doctor. Not now. It needed a thorough investigation. It needed change.

Gordon had sent search parties out for the remaining criminals, but Bruce didn’t think they’d find them. He didn’t think anyone would.

And as the days passed, Bruce was right. Not a single trace of Ivy, the Riddle, or the Joker. Arkham was being gutted, staff being removed, replaced, and charged. And Crane stayed on lock down in Gotham general. He would indeed live.

Bruce tried to act calm during the following days. He made himself go to his office, meetings, to act as if the man who had so enthralled him hadn’t been shot before him, and disappeared without a word. To act as if the earth didn’t feel like it was crumbling.

He came home one night, not long after, overly exhausted. He knew he wouldn’t sleep much- he’d be suited up just as the blackness of night hit, on the streets. He had an image to uphold- he was expected to try and track down the remaining unaccounted for criminals as well. Truthfully, he only cared to find one, though. He’d hunt until his bones turned brittle and shattered.

He found Alfred brewing a pot of coffee, and before he could greet him, the man had turned around, holding out an unmarked envelope. Bruce raised an eyebrow as he took it.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It turned up today while you were out.” Alfred went to walk past him, but stopped to squeeze his shoulder, before leaving him. Bruce poured himself a cup of coffee and settled down at the table, ripping the envelope open. A Joker card fell out, and Bruce’s heart stopped.

He hesitated to touch it, just stared at it on the table for a moment. Finally, hands trembling, he picked it up, flipped it over. His name was scrawled on it- not Batman, not some nickname, but “Bruce”, with a set of red lip prints above the corner of the “e”, and a trail of “xoxo” along the bottom. Bruce traced one of the x’s, could imagine those scarred hands scribbling.

He was alive. Bruce didn’t know where, he may never know, but the man was alive. And imaging those lips touching the card, touching his own, Bruce let himself hope that one day, he might get to ask him how much of this danced had been honest. He hoped he’d get the answer he wanted.

Bruce slipped the card into his jacket pocket, and decided he didn’t need to be Batman that night. Bruce was just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually avoided porn, for once! I hope the actual story was somewhat enjoyable, guys!
> 
> I could have left this as the final fic in the series, but I have decided to write one more, to wrap everything up properly. I haven't decided if it will be full length, or rather short.


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